


The Better Man

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If not the best, I will be a better man</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Man

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://la-reine-bleu.livejournal.com/profile)[**la_reine_bleu**](http://la-reine-bleu.livejournal.com/) who was having a bad day (or series thereof). Special thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman** for rocking the beta and the title, as always.
> 
> Originally posted 3-16-06

The cot is cool though the room is warm, and Bush shifts beneath the thin wool blanket. It smells of soft powder and heavy air, tinged with the faint hint of salt and sea. He shifts again, turning on his side to find himself staring at Horatio.

Dark eyes meet his and he can see the faint hint of blush paint Hornblower’s pale cheeks as he is caught out. “Cannot sleep?” Horatio asks softly.

“It does elude me.”

“Me as well.” Hornblower moves, supporting his head on his hand, the blanket falling away from where it had been pulled high on his chest. “It is good to see you, William.”

“I wish I could truly say the same,” Bush’s voice thickens and he sees the flash of emotion unguarded in Horatio’s eyes for an instant. “Or better said, I wish I could say that you seemed well.”

“I am well. A nice room. An occupation of sorts.” A hint of a smile graces Horatio’s lips. “Other than a mythical commission, what ever else do I lack?”

“You are meant to command, Mr. Hornblower.”

“Please, William…”

“No.” Bush gets to his feet, letting the blanket and pretenses of sleep fall away as he strides the length of the small room and turns, his movements the same as those so easily remembered from the watch along the deck. Hornblower’s eyes follow him with something like hunger, further hollowing his cheeks and paling his skin. “You are not meant for this. Polite society where you are a well-placed fourth and the words are thinly veiled triumphs and insults. You are meant to have Midshipmen cower at your command.”

“William…” Horatio sits up and shakes his head, reaching out to catch Bush’s hand, to still his frantic motion. “Please.”

“You deserve your commission. You earned it – maneuvering and manipulating that fool, Buckland. Me. All of us. The fine subordinate in command.”

Horatio stands and shakes his head again, moving his hands to wrap around Bush’s arms. “It is of no consequence. I am fine. And content.”

“You are not content, Sir.” Bush shrugs off his hands and begins his path across the room once more. “You are starving and freezing and pretending it is nothing.”

Horatio stills Bush once more, his grip tight, long fingers digging into Bush’s skin through his thin nightshirt. “Mr. Bush.”

“It is not nothing, Sir.” He reaches up, despite Horatio’s grip at his arms and touches him, running a single finger across the sharp delineation of bone and flesh pulled taut from hunger. “It is not.”

Horatio’s eyes close and he trembles slightly at Bush’s light touch. Bush stills at the faint movement, his breath catching in his chest, the hot pulse of blood sending his brain and body in opposite directions. He stares at Horatio’s mouth, the full lower lip slipping away from its counterpart as Hornblower’s tongue darts out to wet them both. “William…”

He knows this on instinct. Has done this a thousand times with a thousand different women, and even though the mechanics are different, this part is the same. He shrugs off Hornblower’s suddenly ineffective grip and places his hands on either side of the younger man’s face. His thumbs stroke across high cheekbones and he licks his own lips, staring into the fathomless brown of Hornblower’s eyes as he fits his mouth to the open invitation of Horatio’s.

Pulling back, Bush inhales shakily, his eyes fixed on Hornblower’s mouth, his hands still holding the thin, sharp angles of his face. He licks his lips, watching in strange fascination as Horatio does the same before bending his head again, brushing lightly over those same damp lips.

“Mr. Bush,” Horatio whispers against the light press, shaking his head slightly.

“Give the command, Captain,” Bush whispers in return, his tongue brushing against Horatio’s lip, sliding inside enough to feel the heat of his mouth, feel the resulting press of Horatio’s tongue in response. “You have but to give the command, and I will stop.”

“I…” Horatio’s hands are suddenly against Bush’s solid chest, his fingers catching in the thin fabric of Bush’s nightshirt. “I am not a Captain, Mr. Bush. Merely a lieutenant. Your…” He licks his lips again, his eyes on William’s. “Your junior.”

“In no regard, Mr. Hornblower, are you subordinate to me.” Bush moves his hand, his thumb stroking over Horatio’s lower lip, pulling his mouth open as he bends his head, finding the wet heat once more, thrusting his tongue inside to the soft mewl of Hornblower’s need, the rough scratch of his fingers against Bush’s chest.

Bush’s breath rasps in his lungs as they break apart, both panting hard. Horatio steps back and Bush follows, edging him in a short pursuit to the wall. The sloped angle of the ceiling and Hornblower’s height forces them to the center, and Bush pins him there, catching Hornblower’s hands and holding them to the wall.

Nerves tremor beneath Horatio’s skin, his hands clenching as Bush lays his heavy weight against him. His mouth finds Horatio’s again, the slick slide of tongues and lips becoming easier as their mouths match each others, hunger and need building as Hornblower’s sharp teeth nip at Bush’s bottom lip.

He growls and shifts his body, one knee sliding between Horatio’s legs. His chest rests against the rough shake of the younger, thinner man’s and his tongue thrusts deeper as he settles against him, holding Hornblower helpless with his body, with the long, hard press of his cock against Horatio’s thigh.

“William,” Horatio’s breath is hot and desperate against Bush’s mouth, his hips rolling forward of their own accord. There is something wild in Hornblower as he pushes back, need and want and hunger that reminds Bush of the dirty, bearded man on the parapet, exultant at the hiss and burn of hot shot and victory.

Bush pulls away, surprising both of them in his action. Hornblower slowly lowers his hands and exhales, slumping back against the wall. Bush runs the back of his hand across his mouth, feeling the shaking of his own breath. Horatio’s dark eyes seek his out and they hold for a moment until Bush shakes his head and moves in again, his hands scrabbling at Hornblower’s nightshirt and tugging it over his head.

The fiery siege of desperation courses through Bush like dry, burning timber and pitch as he drops the thin fabric to the floor and then wrests his own shirt over his head. Horatio makes a low sound as their bodies touch, his body constricting at the contact and then expanding, the thin frame rubbing against the gruff hair that peppers Bush’s chest.

A growl escapes from between his lips as he finds Horatio’s mouth again, hunger driving the hard kisses and heavy sucking of Hornblower’s thrusting tongue. Bush turns them, walking them toward the cot with the uneasy sway of a ship tossed at sea as they adjust to one another’s hampered stride until Horatio tumbles away from him across the low bed and Bush falls on one knee between his spread legs, his other holding him steady against the floor as he braces himself over Horatio’s prone body.

Horatio licks his lips, both of them swollen from William’s desires. His dark eyes are black in the moonlight creeping in through the cracked window. Bush watches them breathlessly as they dart from his own eyes to his mouth before closing, lashes feathering blackly against Hornblower’s pale cheeks as his firm, strong hands settle on William’s lower back, bridging the flesh just above his hips.

Bush shudders at the touch, his hands fisting in the blanket on either side of Horatio’s head. His eyes close for a moment, only to open again as Horatio’s fingers begin moving, stroking firmly yet tentatively along William’s spine, finding and tracing the scars that play across his skin.

Breath catching, William shifts his weight to his hands and brings his other leg onto the bed, his body hovering over Hornblower’s as the younger man’s hands keep moving, delicate touch of callused flesh as he splays his fingers along William’s side then brings them to his chest, burying them in the thick pelt of hair. Another tremor runs through Bush and he licks his lips, bearing all his weight with one hand as the other slides back, along Hornblower’s arm to his waist then to his thigh before skimming over the tight, tense muscles of his leg to the flimsy fabric of his small clothes.

Horatio’s nails scratch Bush’s chest and he catches his breath, his hips rising to meet Bush’s hand as he edges the material away from the hard pulse of Horatio’s body. The back of his hand grazes the thick flesh and Horatio’s body jerks beneath his, his hips rising off the bed. William pushes at the impeding fabric, urging it down over Horatio’s muscled thighs.

His own breath catches at the sight of Hornblower in the moonlight, pale skin turned silver as he exposes it. His muscles shiver with tense need, his own gasp filling the quiet as Horatio’s hands slide back around him, long fingers slipping under his own small clothes to press and curve over the tender flesh of Bush’s arse.

Hornblower’s hands move, pushing the fabric down, sliding it over his hips, before guiding it carefully over the heated throb of Bush’s cock. The tips of Horatio’s fingers brush lightly against the swollen flesh, and William cannot help the growl that leaves his lips as he lowers himself in a quick, smooth downward thrust, his heated skin sliding along the equally hot and hard press of Horatio’s.

Horatio moves his hands back to William’s buttocks, pressing him closer as he rocks upwards. Bush snakes one hand beneath Horatio, his fingers firm against his spine as the other hand tangles in his dark curls, stilling Horatio as William seeks out another kiss.

Their bodies move in frantic rhythm, the heat of desire driving the steady pistoning of their hips, their tight embrace limiting the force of every thrust, leaving them to slide and grind together, every push a slick grind and slide of flesh.

“William,” Horatio gasps against Bush’s mouth, his short nails digging into the muscles of Bush’s arse.

A thick, low tremble courses through Bush’s body, liquid fire coiling at the base of his cock as he buries his face against Horatio’s neck, heat spilling between them. Horatio turns his head and breathes Bush in, his own body jerking beneath William’s as his release overtakes him as well.

They still as one, both of them panting roughly against sweat-cooled skin. Bush’s hand tightens in Horatio’s hair, then releases, threading through the thick curls to the pillow beneath. He pushes himself up, looking down as Horatio opens his eyes slowly. “I…”

“It’s late, Mr. Bush.” Horatio’s voice is thick and rough, betraying him as clearly as his eyes as they rake over Bush’s face to his mouth and then back to his eyes. Fire burns in the brown, the heat enough to allow William to slowly pull away.

“That it is, Mr. Hornblower.” Skin clings and catches as Bush slips away from him, easing off the bed and tugging at the small clothes clinging to his thighs. He stumbles to his cot and sinks onto it, the cool air an urgent reminder against the heated flush of his skin.

He turns his head and finds Horatio staring at him, his dark eyes taking everything in as Bush stretches out. “Thank you…William.”

Bush raises an eyebrow, his head tilting in question. “For? Sir?”

Horatio’s smile is as confusing and enigmatic to Bush as his answer. “Everything.”  



End file.
